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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699563">berlin, with your hand in mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios'>hanzios</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU where Berlin is alive, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, canon sucks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:35:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23699563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night before the Bank of Spain heist and Martin can't stop thinking. Andres offers words of assurance.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>170</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>berlin, with your hand in mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is from "berlin" by bear's den</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The world is quiet and asleep, the stone-walled room cloaked in darkness. There seems to be no signs of life apart from the steady, slow heartbeat of the man beside him.</p><p><br/>Martín can’t bear to sit and stare at the ceiling any longer, so he pulls his body from the bed and creeps past a sleeping Andrés, slithering away into the darkness of the hallway. He’d lived in the ancient walls of this place enough to navigate it without the help of any source of light. His feet, through muscle memory, take him to the chapel, always lit and awake amidst the sleeping monastery.  </p><p><br/>A muddy shade of gold wash the interior of the room. To strangers, it may be off-putting. However, to Martín, it’s anything but. </p><p><br/>The night before a heist can induce feelings of anxiety for most. After all, despite how perfect of a plan Martín and Andrés could come up with, there were bound to be faults along the way. Faults that, in the worst case scenario, can take the lives of their gang members. Earlier, they’d celebrated at the outdoor dining area, drinking wine and filling up with the delicious meals the monks have provided for them; however, the excitement of the celebration died down as it approached midnight, and the heavy reality of tomorrow dawned upon them like dense fog.</p><p><br/>Martín would never admit it, but tonight he’s on edge. Nervous. Skittish. And he shouldn’t be, not at all; he was used to the life of crime. </p><p><br/>But the aftermath of the last heist made him fully aware of not <em>his own</em> mortality, but his partner’s. How easily he could lose those beautiful pair of hazel eyes and bright smile in the speed of a bullet. </p><p><br/>He plops himself down the chair in the middle of the chapel after scrounging for a bottle of wine, piles of blueprints laid out in front of him. Within the illustrations and the equations, he begins to look for mistakes. <em>Better now than never, eh?</em> Anything to take his mind off of the possibility of–</p><p><br/>“You should be sleeping.” </p><p><br/>Martín doesn’t look up, only refills his glass of wine. “As should you.”</p><p> <br/>He could feel Andrés move behind him. <em>Alive, he’s alive. </em></p><p><br/>A pair of large hands are suddenly on his shoulders, thumbs pressing down on his back, gently hitting the bone beneath the skin. Martín straightens his posture, warmth spreading below Andrés’ fingers. He couldn’t help but relax underneath his lover’s touch, worries of tomorrow suddenly long-forgotten. </p><p><br/>He could feel Andrés watching him from the back of his head, examining him as if he was doing a reconnaissance of every inch of Martín’s body. The engineer feels exposed under Andrés’ heavily inquisitive eyes. And yet, he does not seem to mind.</p><p> <br/>“What are you doing?” </p><p><br/>“Making sure I didn’t get anything wrong.” </p><p><br/>A soft laugh. “That’s impossible.” </p><p><br/>Andrés gives his shoulders one tight squeeze before walking away. Martín could still feel the heaviness and heat on the area Andrés touched, as if the man had imprinted on him. </p><p><br/>He could hear shuffling from behind him, the sound of expensive slippers walking along the floor of the chapel. They fall into an easy, comfortable silence. This level of camaraderie is pedestrian and natural. Having spent years living together, it is easy to return to a simple routine that says everything and nothing all at once. </p><p><br/>Martín swings a hand on the back of his chair, sparing a look at Andrés, who was staring at a painting at the corner, half of his body shrouded in darkness. </p><p><br/>“I don’t want it to end like last time.” He finally says. </p><p><br/>“Nobody does.” </p><p><br/>“You know I worry, Andrés.”</p><p><br/>“I can’t expect you not to.” </p><p><br/>“This plan, it’s imperfect, I know, but it’s <em>ours</em>.” Martín gulps. “I don’t want something <em>I</em> made to lead to –“</p><p><br/>“My death?” Andrés finally turns, a steely look on his face. </p><p><br/>Martín averts his gaze, drumming his fingers along the neck of the wine glass. His head feels heavy from the alcohol and the weight of Andrés’ words left hanging in the air. </p><p><br/>The last few weeks had flown by like a blur, and in a way, telling a group of strangers about their plan felt as if Martín had been exposed, stark naked. He couldn’t deny that the heist – the tantalizing beauty and intricacies of it – was a poem for the man standing in front of him. Was there a bigger gesture of love than offering someone to melt one of the most prized possessions of Spain into tiny little pieces? This was more than a <em>heist</em>. This was more than a <em>rescue</em>. </p><p><br/>This was Martín telling Andrés, <em>I love you. </em></p><p><br/>He’d be damned if they didn’t make it out alive.</p><p><br/>“My days are numbered, Martín,” Andrés says so casually, taking a few steps toward the table. The words hit close to Martín’s chest. “Yours, however, are not.” </p><p><br/>He couldn’t begin to respond. Andrés throws his head back, chuckling. “I’ll have you know, <em>mi amor,</em> that if the plan goes to shit, I wouldn’t hesitate to put <em>my</em> life on the line. For the plan. And for <em>you.”</em> </p><p><br/>Martín looks up at him. “You should know, <em>cariño</em>, I’m not letting you die in there.” </p><p><br/>Andrés smirks. “May the best man win.”</p><p><br/>The engineer can’t help but stare dumbly at the other man, who, in turn, is staring back at him with the same firm determination in his eyes. He contemplates for a hot second before pushing his chair back and standing in front of Andrés, hands dropping to his hips. </p><p><br/>“Andrés, I’m serious.” </p><p><br/>“I am, too.” He shrugs. “I’ll do anything for you, you know that. And based on what you just said, you’d do the same for me. The two of us being so thirsty for the other’s survival? <em>Por favor.</em> Death doesn’t stand a chance.”</p><p><br/>Suddenly, Martín’s heart feels larger than his chest, the throbbing organ ready to break his ribs any minute. He can’t help the smile escaping from his lips as he closes the gap between them and captures Andrés’ mouth. He holds the other’s head in his hands, just like the first time. The man tastes like alcohol and sin. He feels Andrés smile through their kiss, hands resting on Martín’s waist. </p><p><br/>“I’m not losing you,” Martín says in between breaths. They press their foreheads together as Martín looks at Andrés through his eyelashes. “Not again.” </p><p><br/>Andrés’ hands come flying to the back of Martín’s head, pulling him closer. “Promise me we’ll settle down in Palermo after this. On a humble little house beside the beach.” </p><p><br/>Tomorrow, Sicily would be a million miles away. But tonight, as Martín feels the steady breaths of the love of his life, hot on his mouth, it feels possible. As if the fantasy of their happy ending stood a chance at coming true. </p><p><br/>“<em>Sí, mi amor</em>.” Martín takes Andrés into his arms, embracing him as tight as he could. “After this, Sicily. Whatever it takes.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>follow me on twitter! @LACASADESPARZA</p></blockquote></div></div>
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